Skarling
by PandieBear
Summary: With death constantly following me, I hardly have any time to think about a love life. Getting spirits to return to their grave was harder than people would have rightfully assumed. And with Tate wanting to go to the final Rest, getting Francis to leave Gage so hes no longer possessed, and finding out about the mysterious disappearance of Becky Thatcher.
1. Chapter 1

** Chapter One**

I felt so cold. It was the paralyzing cold that went to the bone and beyond, freezing you on the spot. And in a sense, it was like fear. Fear of messing up. I was trusting Tate to help me with the burial of Dylan Barlow, the forty-seven year old ghost who decided to bug the living hell out of me for the last eight nights.

As a mediator, my job was as much of a curse as a blessing. I couldn't tell anyone about my 'gift' because they would all probably assume I was crazy. Maybe I was, and everything I was seeing was only an illusion. But I doubted I was crazy, as much as the next unfortunate victim of this 'gift.' My arms were covered in goosebumps. The heavy polyester sweater I was wearing was far from enough to keep me from feeling the biting cold of the mid-February night. My toes were even starting to go numb in my fuzzy blue and black socks, and black leather boots. Tate was late, which was no surprise; maybe I could bury the remains myself. Especially since the sky continued to fade from navy blue to black. There were no stars in the sky to keep the cemetery decently lit. Excuse the pun, but it was as dark and quiet as the grave.

I had hardly any time to reconsider before Tate appeared, holding a shovel in one hand, a pair of gloves in another. His own hands were kept warm with his own pair of gloves. "Late enough, as always,"I commented dryly."So sorry I couldn't come to you any sooner, Callie. My time was required elsewhere." He had a slight accent I could never place, but I knew that he was from somewhere in Europe, originally. His eyes were as blue as midnight, his hair pitch black. I knew that personally, although I tried to not be close to him. It was uncomfortable for me to be around any ghost for an unusually long amount of time. Tate drove the shovel into the ground, and handed me the spare gloves. "You forgot them. You're probably freezing,"He muttered. He knew how forgetful I could be. It was kind of a bonus to live with a ghost, despite the uncomfortable times.

Of course, it's not like I put up a poster in some store saying I was looking for an undead roommate. He had died in the mid-eighteen hundreds, in the apartment I moved into a few months ago. For the most part, he was confined to the place. But there were rare occasions he could haunt other places (where I usually was.) Sometimes I had a nagging feeling he liked to follow me, but I never paid much attention to me. Besides, did a ghost really have anything better to do when they had eternity to pass on? I allowed myself another moment to pause on the thought, before grabbing the shovel and digging it into the fresh earth.

Dylan Barlow was a gangster when he was alive in the early nineteen fifties. Someone hired a hit man on him, and left his remains in an abandoned car lot near Preston Beach. I was just the unfortunate victim that happened to be able to see him, and hear his complaints non-stop. He was going bald (although he insisted he was only thinning.) He was a little over on the unhealthy side with his weight, but if you ignored almost everything about him, he wasn't all bad. I scoffed, causing Tate's head to pop up from his hole digging. "Are you losing your marble's over there, Callie?" An eyebrow quirked up in amusement, his dark eyes growing light.

I shrugged, my lips curving into a smile that I knew was more like a scowl of sorts. I wiped my hands on my sweat pants, and leaned against a headstone. It was probably considered disrespectful in some places to do such a thing, but I didn't care. "Nope. I still have all of my marbles. At least, I think so..." Despite the fact that he was from Europe, Tate was literal in an extreme sense. I found it to be a slightly enjoyable quirk about him, seeing as how he had so few. "You might want to check that when you have a spare moment. Can't be losing marbles... It makes a mess..." He went back to working diligently.

To any untrained eye, Tate could almost look human. He worked in a flannel jacket that almost seemed too small to contain the muscle in his biceps, and his faded blue jeans were torn at the knee. It reminded me of some kind of lumberjack in a way. As if feeling my eyes weighing him down, he glanced back up at me, blue eyes glittering like sapphire stones in the sun. There was a hint of amusement, and then something more, something unreadable. It was a look I knew he wore rarely. If he weren't a ghost, I wouldn't of hesitated to say it made him look undeniably sexy. But he was a ghost, and nearly a hundred or so years older than me. It made some subconscious voice kick myself for even thinking about it.

"I've been thinking, Callie." His words were short, and thoughtful. Tate usually didn't ever tell anyone -or me -when he was thinking something, let alone tell what he was thinking. I grabbed a hold of the shovel, trying not to sound too interested. "About?" My voice was muffled by the sound of the shovel hitting rocks underneath the soil. I glanced up at him, only to find him standing at the foot of the hole we had been digging. "Resting."

Now I didn't want to try and sound uninterested. I automatically knew what Tate meant. The final rest, the 'no more haunting' kind of resting. He was thinking about finally going towards the hypothetical light, and meeting whoever he had left in his own time. It was surprising to hear it, and as much as I wanted to deny that it kind of hurt me in some way, I knew it was wrong to keep him from what he deserved. "Oh. What... what made you think about it?" He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, and sighed, taking a seat on the frozen, snow covered ground. "Well, to start, I'm just tired. I'd like to know first hand if there really is a heaven..."

He sounded wistful, and I understood. He was simply tired of roaming the world, and being stuck in the same place. Of course, it may have had something to do with the personal loss of everyone he loved, too. As far as I was made aware in the last month, he had died at the ripe age of twenty-four. He hadn't told me much more than that. We shared a look of honest understanding. Even though he was a ghost, in my nineteen years, he understood me better than anyone I had ever known. And it was the same way with him, save his younger sister Isabelle, who was several years younger than he was. At least, that's what I had gathered.

"Do you know what you have to do to move on?" I asked cautiously, not wanting to go further into the topic. To me, it was unnerving. I had no idea how long he had been considering it, nor when he wanted it to be done. "No, actually, I don't. But it can't be so hard that I can't figure it. Although I guess there are some things worth staying here for..." His voice got lower, just barely audiable for my human ears to hear, but I heard it. I refused to risk looking at him for the moment, and continued to dig. I could feel the cold no longer, since shoveling kept me moving, and kept my blood pumping. "You must be referring to our wonderful home cooked meals, right?" I asked, trying to seem joking. Tate cleared his throat, and replied,"Of course. What else could it be?"

I smirked knowingly, and stayed silent. What else could he be talking about? I mused at the thought that he had some ghostly girlfriend in the Land of the Dead, and they talked about running off together into the proverbial sunset. (Or the light, as we mediators call it.) I opted to keep my thoughts to myself, figuring Tate wouldn't find it quite as funny as I did. The digging continued, until the head of my shovel hit the coffin of Amelia Barlow, Dylan Barlow's wife. Perfect. Now all we needed to do was put Dylan's remains inside, and be done with the whole thing. I moved to the end of the coffin, Tate moving to the other end. We used our shovels to pry it open.

The mere smell alone was overwhelming; it was gruesome, pure death. It was enough to nearly make me vomit. I climbed out of the grave, and grabbed a hold of Dylan's remains. Did I need to take them out of the bag first? Or did I just dump it in with his wife? I couldn't help any feelings of amusement with how rude I was being. I had to consider what I would want if I were in his situation. And I was sure I would be, some far off day. I laid the bones out, so that Amelia and Dylan were both laying next to each other. Tate laughed quietly. "Feeling sentimental, Callie?"

I didn't exactly find any type of personal amusement for Tate, but it seemed like something he did, just to do it. I jumped out of the coffin, and closed the lid with the shovel. "No,"I murmured thoughtfully, tossing the shovel aside,"Not sentimental. I just did what I would want if I were in his place. To be buried with a loved one..." I sighed quietly, and rubbed my hands together, thankful that my apartment wasn't too far away. It was within walking distance, if I wanted to walk in the bleak, snowy night. But I didn't. I would drive home, take a bath, and go to bed. I knew there was no chance that I would actually be able to sleep, considering that I would have been thinking about my illegal activities. I yawned, and started to push the dirt we had dug up back into the grave, my mind wandering. It couldn't have been any later than midnight.

"Any ghostly business to do on the other side?" I asked Tate, trying to be conversational. Maybe it was just me, but the silence seemed to be almost more awkward, and louder, than our actual words. He smiled ruefully. "Not really. At least, nothing that can't wait until the 'morrow." I smothered a small laugh, and nodded politely. "Well, I'm sure that some one will be glad to see you when we get back to the house." I was thinking of April. She was the other ghost I just so happened to move in with, who had died committing the sinful act of suicide. April had actually been a close friend of mine before she passed. There had been many occasions that April had nearly thrown herself at Tate. And when he ignored her, she would hole herself up in the bathroom for hours, which sucked for anyone who was living and had a bladder. Namely, me.

April was eighteen, just barely, and she dressed in all grunge and Gothic apparel. But it suited her personality (or lack of) perfectly. She had her really rare days when she actually smiled, but most of the time she looked gloom and doom, wrecking about everything in her path with her cat Priscilla.

I brought my thoughts back to Tate, and smiled at his grimace. "I have no idea why she insists on trying to throw herself at me, Callie. Any person with sense in their mind would think she belonged in a brothel..." I resisted smiling, and patted the freshly put down dirt with the shovel, turning his words over in my head. "Oh, be fair, Tate. She finds you attractive. So few people can see that, so you sort of have no right to pick and choose, do you?" I picked up the shovels, and headed back towards my cherry red, four door Jeep. Tate frowned slightly, his gloved hands now resting in his pockets. Right, like he needed to try and stay warm.

"Really? You think I should... give her a fair shot?" There was an elongated moment of silence, but I nodded. Somehow I just knew that if something went bad between April and Tate, that I would be the one blamed. "Are you getting in, or not?" I asked quietly, adjusting my mirrors. I had put the shovels in the trunk, assuming that he was going to ride with me. But why should he, when he could just poof back to the house? He shook his head as I thought he would. "Okay then... See you back at the house..."

I found myself heading further away from my apartment, and closer towards Phillipe's coffee shop on the corner of Twin Avenue and Parish Road. Living in Oakley Park, Georgia wasn't all a bad thing. It was a decently sized town, with a population of three thousand or more. The detour to the coffee shop had been unexpected, but I just couldn't seem to bring myself to go home like I thought I would. Coffee sounded like the last thing I would want. And that was even if the shop was open. Some nights, Phillipe kept the shop open much later than usual, just for late night workers.

The light was on inside, but it was dimly lit. I parked, and knocked on the glass door, waiting for Phillipe himself to come to the door. Phillipe was born in Paris, but when he was three, he moved to Chesterfield with his dad. He had pale green eyes , light blond hair, and a body most muscle heads would kill for. But he wasn't into showing off. If anything, he was more shy than anyone I had ever known. Today he was dressed in a pair of tan khaki pants, and a white polo shirt. I knew it was from the dress code the local high school had, and Phillipe only had to deal with it for the rest of the school year. Then he moved onto college. I had graduated two years ago, right before my eighteenth birthday.

He greeted me with a pleasant smile only I could bring, and unlocked the door. "Well hi there, stranger. What brings you here?" I smiled, and allowed myself to be hugged. I hadn't seen Phillipe in nearly eight months, thanks to everything going on with my secret ability. Ghosts keep you busier than you would think. "I was just out on the town, and figured I would come see how my favorite guy was doing." My words caused his smile to grow wider, and he headed behind the counter. "I remember what you like." French vanilla cappuccino's were the only type of coffee I would drink. It was up for debate with some people I knew if cappuccino's were even actually coffee. Then again, those people also liked their coffee black- something that just the thought of made me blanch.

"How are you?" I asked, sitting in one of the many stools that lined up at the counter. He shrugged, ready to respond with what I assumed would be the usual banter of,'Im fine, how are you, blah blah blah.' But a glass fell from the counter, and shattered on the ground into a million little pieces around his feet. "I'm sorry. I've been knocking things over all week,"He grumbled, almost in annoyance. But I knew he didn't knock the glass over. It was too far out of his reach. And the woman standing behind him didn't help very much. She looked angry; her tear stained cheeks made her look like she was just barely keeping her composure. "Where's my baby?!" Her screeching hurt my ears, but that wasn't the only thing it did. It was enough to cause the whole room to start shaking. More glasses fell from the shelves, and one of the window's shattered. And then the shaking stopped. Phillipe was staring in astonishment, trying to piece things together in his mind. An earthquake? Not nearly. An angry ghost screaming for a baby she had lost? Way to hit the nail on the head.

"Does that... happen often?" I asked, regarding the ghost with a nod. It was almost immediately that she seemed to calm down. Maybe it was the fact that maybe someone could actually see her, and hear her voice, to hear her plea for her baby. Phillipe shook his head, now trying to think straight. "No- no, that's the first time that's ever happened."

Now I was going to try and help a friend out. "Hey, Phillipe? What happened to people who owned this place before you?" I asked curiously. I could have just asked the lady, but I was pretty sure that it would've seemed weird for me to start randomly talking to an empty space as if it were a person. I decided I would just get the first person story from... well, the first person. Also known as the lady. Phillipe shook his head, grabbing the broom from a closet in the back.

"It was owned by some married couple... Carter and Hannah Thatcher. All I know about them... they were going to turn this place into a daycare after they had their first child. But when the time came, Hannah had to give birth in the back, since no one was here to drive her to the hospital. I think even if someone even had been there, she would've given birth in the car. But she died during child birth... Carter gave the baby up for adoption, and moved. Remarried even, I think." It was harsh, even in my eyes. I wondered what April would have thought about the story. I knew how the lady- who I assumed was Hannah- felt about it from her wailing in the corner of the shop. "So, you're telling me that she died? And her husband just gave up on everything?" I asked in disbelief, not understanding why he would give the baby up for adoption.

"That's the thing though," Phillipe started again, running a hand through his hair in a habitual way. My interest peaked more, and I waited for him to continue, pulling my chestnut brown hair into a ponytail that reached the middle of my back. "There isn't a record of any sort about Carter Thatcher giving his kid up for adoption. But there is a record of a Becky Rose-Anne Thatcher passing away a month after she was born." So if what I was hearing was right, then the baby passed away not long after her mother. "Do you know where they're buried?" I asked suddenly, my mind moving quicker than even I could keep up. He nodded and finished sweeping up the broken glass before he put the broom back. "Up in the towns cemetery." I barely heard him before I ran through the door and into my Jeep. I needed to head home before I did anything. Sleep was majorly lacking, and I was sure April and Tate would be wondering where I was by now.

I drove home, thinking about Hannah Thatcher, who grieved heavily for her lost child. Most people who are quiet during their lifetime ended up being very violent when they were stuck in the Between Land, haunting unfortunate victims. Another easier term to call them? Poltergeist. But I doubted they appreciated that term as much simply being called a ghost. Was Hannah angry over losing just her child? Or was she angry over her child, her life, and her husband who didn't seem to care either way that both his wife and child were dead?

The thought weighed heavily on my mind as I pulled into my driveway and parked. Before I turned off the ignition, I watched the neon green lights that flashed the time. Two seventeen A.M. I had been up for nearly forty eight hours straight, and my mind was longing to shut down. I grabbed my keys, and went inside.

My apartment was big enough for a whole family to live in, but it was only me. It was pitch black, save the bathroom light that illuminated into the kitchen and my own room. I was amazed that April wasn't hiding somewhere, ready to give me hell that I knew I didn't deserve, probably about staying out so late. I headed towards my room kicked off my boots at the closet, shedding my sweater for a light blue tank top that went with my grey sweat pants and socks. Without another thought, I slipped into my bed, pulling the comforter around my shoulder, tucking my knees into my chest. I barely closed my eyes before I was interrupted. "You know, you really should check your house before you sleep. An intruder could get in and slit your throat in your sleep. We wouldn't want that, now would we?" It was April's sultry voice, coming from the other side of the room. I knew she lit up one of her habitual cigarettes by the glowing orange light, and the smoke that gathered around it. I turned on the lamp by the side of my bed, only to be surprised that April was smiling. My day honestly could not get any weirder.

I kept from questioning the smile, and sat up against my head board, only observing. "You never know, April. Just maybe I secretly long to be like you- a ghost who can wander the earth at her whim, and haunt people. Maybe getting murdered in my sleep is exactly what I want. What do you think?" I asked, my voice sounding dark and quiet. April had no chance to answer, considering another voice came into the conversation. "I don't want that for you, Cassie. It's hard enough for the rest of us, but to actually think it's better? Aye, then you really have lost your marbles, haven't you?" Tate was sitting at the edge of my bed, tossing around a small stuffed bear I'd had for years.

Maybe it was just me, or maybe I was imagining, but he almost sounded hurt. "I was... joking, sort of,"I grumbled. He nodded, accepting my answer. Sleep. That was all I wanted. "Okay, I know you probably want to give me hell, right?" I asked April. She shook her head, and stood. I couldn't be sure what Tate wanted, but it didn't matter right then. "Can I please- please- get a decent night of sleep? I'm down right exhausted, and having you two badgering me doesn't quite help that,"I muttered, sliding down under my blankets. April muttered something sounding suspiciously like,"Living people are so needy," and left the room. I was already dozing, but Tate came over and turned off the light, kissing my head and left the room. I gave into the darkness, and let sleep over come me.

_ It was a field of wild flowers that were beginning to wilt in the chilly fall weather. They were the true definition of beautiful, with their bright colors, and the way they perfumed the air. It was a place of true tranquility and peace; on such a level that it was almost on overload. There was yelling not far from where I stood in the field, and a gun shot echoed through the tree's of the forest that played with the edge of the wild flowers. I tried to ignore the yelling, the gunshots, and focus on the field. I wore a dress of deep auburn, lined with the best satin and lace in all of Paris. But I was no longer in Paris anymore, and it bothered me. I missed Paris, and the fine air, with all of the lovers who seemed to dance to their love. It was a thing I had used to be jealous of, but leaving Paris made me yearn for the jealousy. Why were they allowed to be happy, when I was stuck with my sister on a low class level of society?_

_ "Isabelle! Please, come back. We meant no harm, my love. We only wanted you to have some fun!" The tranquil state of the flowers was replaced by a city, the Eiffel Tower leering in the distance. Men were surrounding a young girl on the edge of an alley way. She was beautiful, with her porcelain skin, raven black hair that fell to her hips in a long braid. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue that reminded me of someone. I felt drawn to her, but she could not see me. Her voice was almost softer than you would have expected it to be, but it sounded perfect to me. "Leave me alone, Francis, please. I do not play games anymore. My brother needs me- now go. Maybe Ill play your games another day." She smiled coyly, and traced a ribbon around her wrist out of nervousness. She had a feeling that the men wouldn't let her go to her brother, that they would keep her there in the alley to have their fun._

_ Stepping back, she felt a brick wall underneath the tips of her white satin gloves. "Please go, Francis." Her voice had gotten somewhat shaky, and Francis only laughed, brushing his finger tips over her cheek, caressing it like they were long time lovers. Years ago, I would have thought they were. But that was no more. "Isabelle, I believe we have unfinished business. You see... At some point, you had all of us wound around your finger tighter than your brother. We would have done anything for you. But you wasted us, and tossed us aside as if we were nothing better than a rag doll." Francis stepped back, and one of the taller, more broad men bowed in front of her. She recognized him, but only slightly. It was her brothers best friend since child hood. She had courted him, but only shortly. No one could ever keep her interest. "Mason, please let me go." He glanced at Phillipe, back to her, until he gripped a hold of the lace that bound her corset closed, and tore it away, heaving Isabelle away from the wall._

_ Her voice trembled when she spoke, fear creeping in. "Please just let me go!" Mason and Phillipe frowned, and another man slipped behind her, covering a paw like hand over her mouth to silence her. Slowly, he bent down enough to trace his hand over the back of her thigh, until he could get a decent hold on the under skirt of her dress, tearing it away as if it was nothing. She was shaking, now knowing just what fun Francis had been speaking about. She had given them nothing, and they wanted everything. They would take away her innocence, one by one, until she finally gave into them. But there was no chance for it to happen. A man who resembled the young girl was speeding down the alley, punching Francis so hard that blood flowed freely from his nose, splattering the cold Parisian ground with its color. Francis growled, throwing himself at the man. "Tate-" Isabelle couldn't finish her sentence as Mason kissed her mouth, harder than the gentle kisses she was used to receiving. It lit a fire inside of her she had never felt before, but it wasn't going to go anywhere. From her view, Francis was laying on the ground, having been knocked out. Mason was ripped away from her and thrown into a wall. Tate was so angry that it seemed he had transformed into a storm. No harm would come to his sister, not on his watch. "Isabelle, go. Now." The young girl nodded and ran, her feet barely hitting the ground._

_ The view faded out once more, before I found myself face to face with Tate. He was holding out a glass of champagne, smiling. I had never really seen Tate smile before, but it made love swirl in my chest all that much more. He was so wonderful to take care of his little sister after his aunt passed away. He was unlike any other man I had known. But our dream would last only shortly; he had to return to Paris in three days. Georgia was no place for him, but he would find a way to make it last. He had said so. "Lorleigh, I tell you that I will take you to Paris with me. My sister will love you, Im sure."_

_ It was a once in a life time chance, to be courted by someone you actually loved. But I couldn't go. I had to politely refuse the offer. I had been to Paris before, having had some scary experiences. "Oh, Tate, my love. I wish I could, but you know I have my work to do here. Please understand." I let my arm slip around his neck, wishing he could only know how I felt. He frowned at my response, but nodded in acceptance. The champagne was forgotten about as the glass fell from his hand, shattering on the ground as he moved in to kiss me. It was a slow burning fire, the kiss. It burned my heart, and scorched the one part of me he would ever truly touch. I leaned into him, heart racing, wanting more than I physically knew possible._

_ The door to his parlor was shoved open, and a gun shot sounded the air. It startled us, and I knew it angered Tate. It was a man, who was holding a gun. I couldn't recognize him, but I knew Tate did. "Francis." The man smiled wryly, and closed the door as he entered the room. "No, Tate. You interrupted my fun, now Im going to ruin yours." A shot echoed from the gun, and before I knew what was going on, Tate was falling to the ground, blood seeping from the wound in his chest. It matted the black suit to his chest, and I wanted to stop the bleeding. One last shot ran through the small room, and I felt agonizing pain, falling to the hard marble floor. My heart was bleeding, just as Tate's was. We would die together, as the man Francis left the room. I loved Tate. I loved him, and in death, that would not change. Tate's hand reached out, searching for mine. Or so I thought. It closed around a picture frame that had fallen when he had. He closed his hands around the picture, holding it to his chest. Somehow I knew- I just knew that Isabelle would be in that frame. Her beloved brother, dead. His beloved, dead with him. "I love you,"I whispered weakly, finally feeling the effects of the blood loss. Tate nodded, and with the same drama as a curtain call, I closed my eyes._

I didn't have to try and wake up because I was instantly alert. Every cell in my body was alive and on fire. Anger was the first thing I felt. It was in such passionate hate that it left a red haze in my sight. I wanted to punch something, and hard. But a hand tracing over my calf stopped me, cooling down the hate like water putting out a fire. It was Tate, and it was comforting. I tried to find my voice to speak, to ask him about his sister, and Lorleigh, but I couldn't.

"Were you having a nightmare?" He asked quietly, dark eyes filled with worry. I considered it for a moment, not sure how to answer. Had it been a nightmare? I tilted my head, sitting up and grabbing for his hand as Lorleigh had in her last moment in life. "No, it wasnt a nightmare, Tate. Tell me about Isabelle and Lorleigh." Tate let go of my hand, and I frowned slightly. Knowing my luck, I had touched on a sensitive subject.

He sighed softly, and leaned back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. "We shared a dream last night, Callie. I played the role I did when I was alive, and you were a bystander... for the most part." His voice became quiet, and I knew why. I had touched a part of him people would never know about. The part where I was one of the most important people in his life, but still second to his sister. I was his lover, in a sense, and I had known everything she was thinking about when she died. "I was Lorleigh, yea. I know, Tate. I knew how she felt when you kissed her. Hell, I knew what she was thinking when Francis shot the two of you. It was always about you. Always, Tate. She loved you until her last breath left her lips."

Tate nodded, frowning now. I had no idea if he felt bad for not saying that he loved Lorleigh back when she did, or if he was regretting thinking of Isobelle before he passed. An uncomfortable silence settled between us, so I took the opportunity to grab a pair of jeans and a heavy purple long sleeve shirt to wear to work. I was sure it would be just as cold as it was yesterday, if not worse with the coming rain. I wouldnt change with Tate in the room. Even with a ghost, I still had my decensy.

The place I called work was the size of a three story library, only the book store owned just the middle and bottom floor. Compared to Barnes & Nobles, or Borders, it wasn't much, but it was something. My boss Terry remained forever optimistic about more customers, and eventually, he would be proved wrong. There was a bonus to working during the grave hour, despite all of the unfortunate sacrifices to keep the job. For a bookworm, I got to read all I wanted since basically no one came in any later than ten.

Inside Turning Pages, Rylie was relieved when I stepped inside, bracing myself from the ice cold wind, swearing that the snow storm that ripped through Georgie would be the death of us all. Rylie was a red head, with a petite figure, and dainty size 5 shoes. Sometimes she had an attitude to kill on some days; most of which were spent with the staff trying to figure out if she was ragging or not. We eventually came to the conclusion that it was just how she was.

"Callie! Thank god you're here. I thought I was going to have to cancel my date-" I held up my hand to silence her. It was just a thing she had a habit of doing, relieving everything sh had ever thought since she last saw someone. It was slightly annoying, but a person lived to deal with it. "Go, Ryley. Have fun." She nodded, and wasted no time in leaving me to my seven hours of heaven.

As soon as she was out of site, I took my seat behind the counter, checking and double checking how much was in the register. The bell above the door jingled, and I assumed it was Rylie coming back because she forgot something. My mind wandered back to the ghost in Phillipe's coffee shop. There was no way she could harm Phillipe unless she somehow managed to get enough energy to make an herself appear by manifestation. It was a simple idea, but for Hannah, it would take most of her strength for a long while.


	2. Chapter 2

I managed to get through counting the money in the register three times over, and restocking within an hour. I only had seven more to get through, which shouldn't have been too hard, seeing as I could finish at least three books during that time. The sound of books falling a few isles over caught my attention just as I started to get settled into reading 'The Story Sisters.' It was a favorite of mine, even if I had only read it once. "Everything okay back there, Ryley? I know you're in a rush for your date and all, but-" A man shuffled forward from between isle one and two, holding a stack of six books, three of which being for the college, just three miles away. His appearance made me stop in my tracks.

He stood to be around six three, with prefect golden colored hair falling just below his shoulders in a nature manner. He wore a leather jacket over a blank white t-shirt and shredded blue jeans. He was the image of the perfect bad ass guy that all woman fawned over in Harlequin novels. It made me feel under dressed for the part. "Obviously, I'm not Ryley. She's a big mouth anyways." He said, muttering something incoherently under his breath. I knew I had literally just met this man, but he seemed to come in often enough to know who Ryley was. He was a man after my heart. I suppressed a small laugh, and leaned over the counter, peering down at the titles of the chosen books, none familiar to me.

"You go to the college?" I asked casually, watching as he put the stack on the counter. When he looked at me with his stormy hazel eyes, I felt my breath catch in my throat. 'My, my my. You're just beautiful, aren't you?' The thought hit me before I could stop it, halting the train of dirty thoughts that was shooting through my brain faster than a bullet. He nodded without speaking, watching my hands as I steadily checked out the books. 'Chakras and Meditation, Save Your Soul, A Guide to Meditation.' I was glad someone was finally buying books about meditation. They had been piling up in the back, gathering dust for months. I slid the receipt across the counter, opening the cash register to count out his change.

Unexpectedly, he looked up at me, lips forming to speak, but no words came out from the dark stranger. He simply nodded, and carried his books away. I listened for the jingling bell which came seconds later. There was no way in hell I would be able to focus on my book after seeing the look he had given me. It was a look of just a simple knowing, like he knew I could see the dead. Or maybe I was being paranoid, and it was just that we had seen eachother somewhere before. Either way, that man had been... well, hot.

Settling back down, I grabbed a piece of paper and started writing what was directly on my mind at the time. I had decided a long time ago I wouldnt date. Not after the last time, where I had found out the guy I had been so in love with was cheating with several other woman, and April. Afterwards, I opted to just focus on school and work. That in itself would take up most of my time. And the rest of the time, I was doing my job as a mediator.

_**Pros and Cons of dating;**_  
_No more jealousy of other couples -Pro_  
_No loneliness -Pro_  
_Worrying about sig. other finding someone better -Con_  
_Being happy -Pro -Shouldnt need another person to be happy- -Con_  
_No one who fits my uber high standards -Con_  
_-Note; Blind dates are a no. Completely awkward. _

The list was simple enough, getting straight to the point. I refused to do blind dating, for two reasons. It was just completely awkward, and I had no one to set me up with anyone. Of course, Phillipe had tried many times to get me to meet college friends of his, but I never wanted to, just because most college guys were total assholes. And I didn't need that kind of drama, especially after last time.

I ripped the paper from the notebook, and wrote again.

_**Standards for men;**_  
_Must be tall._  
_Cannot be thin. They need meat on their bones._  
_Cannot be younger than me. Cougars are just eww._  
_Must have a morbid sense of humor_  
_Must love cats or dogs_  
_Must love ghosts -Kidding-_  
_Must love cuddling_  
_Must love books and movies_  
_Cannot be a college douche._  
_Cannot be a pain in my ass_

That list was just as easy as the first. I wouldn't be a cougar. Sure, I was young, but dating guys younger than me was just a no. I had seen girls who dated men younger than they were, and they were always so immature... Then again, that could have just been men in general. But either way, I wouldn't be a part of the statistics that were cougars. Dating someone shorter than me, with a failure of a sense of a humor was too, out of the question. I was a morbid person, what with my job and all. I needed to be able to relax and make jokes about things. Hell, at worst, I had thought dead baby jokes were just it for me. They were the funniest thing possible. But again, it was the first time I had been high. (And for a fact, people who say you dont get stoned your very first time are dead wrong.) (And for my own personal account, Ive never been high since.)

Dating would be good for me... Or so I assumed. I wouldn't really know, having only dated Tristan, ever. I ripped that paper away from the notebook, shoving the two notes in my pocket without a second thought, and crossed my ankles. It was back to Tate with my thoughts. From what I had seen in his dream, and by just guessing, I figured in order for him to move on would be something with family, or maybe love. Knowing that in the ghost realm, Lorelei was okay. That she had at least moved on herself.

My own heart wept for the lost love that Tate and Lorelei had to go through, but it was a part of the human life, as was hate, jealousy, love, and other common emotions that people felt. I had always wanted to know what was going through his mind about her, about the woman who loved him until her last breath. But I knew it would remain a secret until he wanted it known, if ever. I always tried not to press issues with Tate, never knowing how he would react. Most of the time he didn't, and he asked me not to press it. Yet it was okay for us to talk about my past, that I blocked out of my mind with the force of one thousand mile wide, infinity feet tall brick walls. It was a bruise that never faded, my past with Tristan.

Sighing, I rolled the sleeves of my shirt up, revealing scars that ran down my arm, each one having its own inch, its own story. A neat row of ten on each arm. I had stopped cutting when I first met Tristan, with his request, and my needy whim to please him. But then after the relationship, the depression had come back worse than before, and I had let the razor be the cure. I had only stopped recently, when I moved into the apartment. The first night staying there, I had held the cold metal blade in my fingers, ready. And that's when Tate appeared, telling me that I couldn't continue, that doing it, just one at a time, would kill me over time. Even taking multiple pills at once would have been better than killing myself over forever. And after that, I just stopped. It had been several months, and the scars were even still pink and fleshy, but they were fading. I allowed my thoughts to go back to The Story Sisters, leaving my reality behind.

***  
Six hours later I was stepping into the parking lot with a migraine about the size of Canada stabbing my in the brain. It was tormenting me, screaming,"You'll never catch me alive!" I could have eaten a whole bottle of Aleve just for it to go away. Unfortunately, I had none at hand. The store would be closed until noon, since it was Monday, and Terry took a three hour yoga class that was overpriced for something you could do at home. I was convinced that he had been a monk in some far away place, or maybe a past life. But I never said so.

It seemed like every little thing was getting to me. The light was too bright, my keys in hand were as loud as one million wind chimes banging in my ear. I wanted to go home, drag myself into bed, and not come out for days or weeks. But I had a two jobs, and I couldn't exactly ignore them. Seeing that it was only seven a.m. I headed towards the Starbucks across the street from Turning Pages, ordering the biggest french vanilla cappuccino I had ever had. I knew I probably wouldn't be able to finish a quarter of it, but some people said that caffeine made headaches go away. I was praying it was true.

Crossing the street one more time, I decided to go to the cemetery and check on Dylan Barlow's remains. It was only a few blocks away, and I figured that I could see if the grumpy man really was at rest with his wife. Maybe I could even find a grave for Hanna or Becky Thatcher, and dig up a little dirt on the family. There was just something that just didn't sit right with me about Carter, and how he had just ignored his dead wife and child, moving on somewhere else.

Before I could pull out of the empty parking lot, there was a knock on my window, surprising me enough that I nearly spilled my coffee in my lap. I glared headily at the person knocking, rolling the down just slightly. My glare immediately stopped once I recognized the face as the dream man come to life. It was him, the college guy.

I was still angry about almost losing my coffee, but I wasn't going to waste my anger on such a hot guy. "Yes?" I asked curtly, keeping my eyes on my steering wheel. There was just something about him that sent shivers through my body. I wanted to be near him almost instantly, but I was already close to enough to smell the leather from his faded jacket, mixed with some type of cologne. I had an idea that the cologne was stronger not long ago. "Come to breakfast with me." It wasn't a question. It wasn't a request; it was a demand that I come. There was something in his voice that made me turn my head and look straight into those damn beautiful eyes of his.

For a moment, I found myself silently wishing that I had sunglasses, so I could just stare at him for hours and hours. It was one of the better ways to spy on people without being overtly obvious. My brows furrowed together in questioning, and I found myself smiling. "Hi, my name is Callie. Oh, you're trying to pick me up? Cool story, now be less like an ass about it." My words were short and pronounced, voice dripping with sarcasm. It was an automatic thing for me, to be short tempered and annoyed when I was bothered. Or when I had Canada in my brain.

As if he knew, he pulled his hand from his pocket, holding out two tablets of what looked like Tylenol. Oh, my hero. I rolled the window down further, squinting at the pills suspiciously. "How do I know you aren't trying to roofie me?" I asked quietly, debating the risk of taking foreign pills, or continuing to deal with the still growing pain in my mind. The corner of his gorgeous mouth tugged up in amusement to my question before he answered,"Because I recognize people who suffer from migraines. And if I wanted to roofie you, Id be a hell of a lot less obvious about it."

Caving in, I accepted the pills and tossed them back, following them with the sweet burn of a very delicious, much needed cappuccino. "As I was saying. Go to breakfast with me." I wanted to ask him questions, like why I should do what he was asking. Or how I thought I knew him. He was persistent, and that was always something I admired in a person, no matter how stalkerish they appeared to be.

I nodded, curiosity being the only thing that made me say yes to the strange yet gorgeous man. Seriously, he could have been a rogue model. "Get in,"I muttered, rolling my window up. The snow was already melting, but I knew there would be rain in the next few hours. Then again, it wasn't like the weatherman was never wrong or anything. He had a habit of being wrong a lot, actually. I blamed him for my being unprepared for certain types of weather. I was almost sure that I looked like hell, but I didn't care. I was feeling overly tired, even though going to breakfast with some stranger should have made me care more.

The passenger door opened, and I waited until I heard the belt buckle click in place. I was one of the few people who wouldn't drive without buckles being used. "Gage Rivers. And to answer your question from earlier... Yea. I do go to the college. And before you can laugh, yea, I do meditate." His voice was as crisp as an Autumn leaf, like warm cider in a cold evening. It sent chills rushing over my skin. I only nodded. So the stranger was no longer a stranger. His name was Gage Rivers. Now if only I could figure out what he wanted from me. I glanced towards him to find him already watching me. "Is there a problem, Gage, dear? Not what you expected after the accepting candy from a stranger?" I grinned slightly, before reconsidering what I had said. Yea, it was backwards. But only an overly observant person would notice that I was the one who had accepted candy from a stranger. I was the one luring strangers into my car. Although, to make the joke better, I almost wished I owned a white van. 'Watch out little kiddies, Ive got candy...' The thought made a quiet giggle bubble from my lips before I could stop it.

Gage shrugged it off, probably figuring it better not to ask. He was already smarter than I had figured him for. "So, breakfast. Where?" My stomach growled as if stressing the importance of accepting breakfast offers from strange people. "Oakley Corner." I knew the restaurant. They were always open from midnight to midnight, and it was always best to go before it got crowded in the late morning rush. From what I had heard, they had the best waffles known to man. Maybe I would test that theory.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" I asked curiously, focusing on pulling out of the lot. I didn't want to look into those eyes, knowing that they would find some way to pull me in and never let go. It was an odd sensation, to not know what you want consciously, but to want something consciously and be so scared of it at the same time. Gage looked away for a moment before he answered, gathering his thoughts. "I think so. I just don't know where from. If I were you, I wouldn't try and get to know me, Callie. All I do is hurt people."

It was such a strange thing to say to a stranger, but I had a nagging feeling it wasnt the first time I had heard those words. It took me back to days where life had me so low that I was scraping the ground and coming up missing parts of me. It was so uncharacteristic of me to do worry about words. But coming from Gage, they sounded all wrong. "You cant possibly only hurt people."

_*Okay, now, before you go on judging me, I know what you re thinking. 'Oh lord, Callie is going to be the good guy and transform into a counselor, helping people both cold with death, and warm with life.' But know this. No matter if it was good for me or not, I had always, always tried to convince people that they had to be better than they thought they were. And yea, most of the time I got burned for playing with those sort of fires, but there were occasions that came as rare as a blue moon that I was rewarded for my good deeds. The only thing that stopped me from being Saint Callie recently had been the dark memories of how I had fallen in love with Tristan by doing what I was doing with Gage. Convincing them they were good. Whatever, I'm not perfect. And I nearly never learn from my mistakes.*_

Gage stared at me for what felt like forever, and I decided right then that I could live with him looking at me as he was, with so many mixed, unreadable emotions, for damn near forever. And forever was... a long time. I cleared my throat, suddenly realizing just how intense the air in the small jeep was becoming. Warm and electrifying, the intensity growing every waking moment that his eyes watched me. I let the window down just a crack, turning a corner. 'Just another six blocks, and we'd be okay...'I thought to myself. Gage spoke, smiling some. "You would think that, wouldn't you? Being an angel and all. Saint of the year..." His voice grew quieter and quieter, fading into the thrum of the engine. "I'm not healthy, Callie. Not by far. I'm like a disease that not even death itself can get rid of-" As soon as he spoke, he shut up, saying no more. I tapped my steering wheel, almost sure that he knew something about being a mediator. _'I'm like a disease that not even death itself can get rid of.'_

His words caused the air in the car to cackle dangerously, like warning sirens that went off, only no one could hear them. I couldn't hear them. I never could. "You aren't a disease. You're not bad. I don't even know you, but I feel like Ive known you for forever. Youre easy to be around, if you ignore the whole 'I'm a bad ass God who likes acting like an asshole' routine. My words earned a small smile from Gage, despite how he had become quiet, like he has said too much. I wasn't sure if he was enjoying the fact I called him a bad ass, or a god. Maybe all three. Hell, maybe he was laughing because for the second time in the last twenty minutes, I had called him an asshole. I wouldn't have been surprised, with how his mood swings seemed to be going. Another four blocks.

"Did you know if youre really, really quiet around people, you can just feel how awkward you are?" I asked, returning to my normal, morbidly quirky self. I allowed myself to glance at him, smiling. He was awkward, and maybe an ass, but he was still as sexy as all hell, and probably one of the most odd people I had ever had the chance to know. I almost felt honored in meeting someone so strange, but I knew I had him beat. You know, because I had the whole Sixth Sense thing going on. 'I see dead people.' Yes, Gage, how would you handle seeing the dead? I mused a moment longer on that thought before grabbing my cappuccino and draining half of it, all while staying straight in the right lane.

If Gage really did know about being a mediator, it would certainly explain his comment. But in the process, I would realize just how dangerous he probably was. If death couldn't get rid of him, then what could? I parked along side of the curb by Oakley Corner, the diner lit up inside, the Open sign hanging in the doorway. I wasn't going to spend my morning convincing Gage that he wasn't bad. I didn't have the patience for it anymore, and my stomach was growling as loud as a rabid dog.

Neither one of us spoke as we made our way inside. I figured he was still stuck on that comment about death, and I couldn't really blame the man. Id be stuck on comments I hadn't meant to blurt too, if I was talking about death not being able to kill me. Then again, death really had tried to kill me, and failed. I certainly was not ready to die yet, and if I did, it wouldn't be without a fight. Nearly drowning at my parents lake house when I was seventeen was an experience I could go without reliving. And after that, I decided that if I really did want to ever seriously commit suicide, I would probably drown myself. Its peaceful, floating in the water while your lungs fill with water. Even if it does sound... well, depressing. But if you haven't learned that morbid and depressing are my thing by now, then just stop where you're at.

There was a quick change in how Gage walked, going from his slight hunch, staring at the ground, to standing straight up and staring ahead. He turned to face me, and I knew there was something wrong. His face was contorted in some type of face I had only seen in a dream... "Hello, darling. You wouldnt happen to know where my old friend Tate is, would you?"

I didn't know how in the hell it was possible, but somehow Francis had come to possess Gages body, choosing to come out whenever he willed it so. I refused to acknowledge the fact that I could tell it was Francis. I shouldn't have even known who Francis was, let alone meet him face to face. "I have no idea who you're going on about, Gage,"I replied coyly, smiling,"But you picked a good spot for breakfast. Ive heard that the waffles here are to die for." Without a second look back, I opened the door to Oakley Corner only to instantly be greeted by a tall read head waitress who's name tag read 'Ruby.' I could tell that Gage enjoyed a pair of long legs, just by the way he watched her every move. It made me sick to think about just how much he reminded me of Tristan.

Tristan had liked long legged brunettes next to any other guy in the world, if not more. It was like every memory of every time I caught him watching another woman with any trace of longing in his eyes flashed through my mind. Sort of in the way peoples lives supposedly flash before them before they die. (Which isn't true, by the way.) I was slowly learning I had a thing for those guys who flash big, doe eyes and have 'woe is I' stories, who need taken care of just as much as I do. But I was always learning how to build a brick fort around my heart, to stay away from guys with issues like me. Because, sob story or not, I was becoming more careful than I had ever been. Tristan was only my first mistake. In the last year we had been apart, I noticed Id make mistakes just like every other human, even if I did have semi-physic abilities unlike anyone else.

Gage- Francis- smiled back at my comment, coolly retorting with,"Of course not, Mon Ami. And yea..." His eyes turned a shade darker as as thoughtful look passed over his face. I assumed that he was delving into Gages memories. "They have the best waffles here that Ive ever tasted. They're simply to die for." Ignoring the completely obvious double standards, I smiled up at Ruby, who led us to a table by the window.

"Ill have your menu's in a moment." Her lips were painted crimson red to match her hair. Boy, she sure was a gem.-See what I did there?- I had no doubt she had her pick of men. Although whether it was actually because she had a brain, or just looked easy was beyond me. She had dark green eyes that refused to look away from Gage. They completely read,'I get off in twenty minutes, meet me out back.' And that was only if I wasn't lost in translation. But from woman to woman, I was sure I knew what I was seeing. Francis' himself was enjoying how Ruby was ogling him. "Ill have your best..." Wine was already on his lips, but he quickly stopped,"Ill have your best coffee. And she'll have..." "Your best waffles, white toast, bacon, and a side of hash browns, please. Oh, with a Dr. Pepper." I smile politely, watching as she raced to jot down my order. I never entered a restaurant unprepared. Unless it was sea food, in which case, I made it a point to never go.

Ruby disappeared into the back, hips swaying mesmerizingly. I caught Francis watching without shame. For all I knew, he probably could watch porn in public with the same face. Then again, both his eyes and Ruby's read something into the whole,"Id do you now if no one was here." It made me mentally shake my head. I twirled a salt shaker around, curious to see what would be said if I asked my questions just the right way. It helped I was a righteous poker player. "Who's Tate?" I asked, looking up at Gage from my seat, glad to have the table between us. I knew if it had actually been Gage, I would have had no problem sitting right next to him. And if he ever came back, maybe we'd get the chance to have a breakfast that he would actually remember.

"Tate is an old acquaintance of mine... from years ago. We went to grade school together. I just figured that you might know him..." His voice faded out, and I smiled some, still playing along. I knew my face was unreadable. I wasn't an open book anymore, after having so many arguments about little things that usually would have made it very clear I was pissed off. Part of it came from being Irish, but the rest was all just because I was me. So full of attitude and life that it made bystanders hurt to watch me do things they clearly didn't have the gonads to do. I generally prided myself on such things. But at the moment, I was happy that I had my emotions under wraps. For now. "You sound very fond of him. Was he like a brother to you?" A smile formed on my lips that I knew wouldn't reach my eyes, but it was pretty damn close. It would be the best he'd get out of me, especially considering how rarely I smiled.

Before he could answer, Ruby reappeared from the kitchen, carrying a platter with my perfectly golden waffles and hash brown, my toast, and just crunchy enough bacon. She set it all down on the table, and I realized that it was like I didn't even exist. It was all about Francis, and his sex face. Then again, who was I to judge? As far as I knew, he always wore that look. She was like a cat in heat. "Gage, dear, would you hurry and order? I'm sure the kids wont want to be with your mother any longer than they need be."

God, did I take such pride in ruining the purring kitty's fun. She watched Gage for a moment longer before she took out her pad and pen again. "What can I get you?" She no longer wore her come hither eyes. In ruining her fun, she had gone all business on poor old Francis. I was almost sure that he had no clue how to even use certain parts anymore. They were probably rusted, if they hadn't fallen off from not being used. The thought brought as smile to my lips, especially after seeing just how he had treated Isobel in the dream. Nightmare. Whatever you want to call it. Gage tapped the table thoughtfully, drumming his fingers over and over. "What do you think is best, Ruby? I'm sure you'd know some things are just better than... others." I shit you not, that asshole had the nerve to look at me when he spoke. I had to resist throwing a perfectly good glass of Dr. Pepper at him. It was like comparing me, a fine, semi-sweet wine, to... well, water. Sure, she had looks. But who was more likely to be good for an actual relationship? Scratch that. Who wants relationships? Certainly not me.

There it was. The smile was back, and I was almost sure Id be leaving this restraunt alone, leaving Gage/Francis to wet his willie out back. Or maybe in a bathroom stall. For all I knew, she had herpes. I munched on a peice of delicious bacon, grinning at the thought of Francis getting some type of STD. Although Id feel bad for Gage in the long run. "Well,"Ruby was murmuring very phone-sex-line like,"We do have our strawberry pancakes, including with whipped cream, chocolate, and blueberries. And to drink? Just a simple glass of milk." She leaned over slightly, resting her elbows on the table. 'Oh, sweet Jesus. Someone, please alert her to put her boobs back in her shirt,' I thought. The whole scene was so surreal to me, and I just found it so damned funny.

I finally decided to cut in, crossing my arms over my chest. "Okay. Why don't you eat? And then you and Miss Ruby, aka sex-on-a-stick, can go get it on in the bathroom. Sound good? Wonderful, because I'm starving, and I dont need to throw everything up watching you two eye-rape each other." With my words said, a feeling of contentment fell over me like a mist. In the end, Gage/Francis ordered what was suggested- did you really expect anything less?- and they disappeared into the back the same way a jock would go off with the biggest whore out of the cheerleaders, into the woods for Seven Minutes in Heaven. Call me bitter, but I prefer to just be honest. And blunt honest, as I always said, was the best policy.

** *****  
By the time I was finished with breakfast, and Francis, excuse the term, had his fill of fun, it was almost two hours later. I wasn't really sure what possessed me to even wait for him to be done. I sure as hell didn't think he'd take as long as he did. But I was very slowly learning to expect the unexpected. I would have to remember to ask Tate if it was possible for a ghost to even relatively try and reincarnate a human. Or maybe it was a slight case of possession. Either way, it shouldn't have been too hard to fix, if he knew how. Ghosts imitating people around my town was not something I needed. Gage was far too pretty to be possessed by someone as low as Francis.

Along with all of my other problems, I just wanted to know what in Gods name made me feel so drawn to Gage. I had barely known him for twenty minutes before Francis came in and stole his soul. Figuratively, of course. It was just a bad case of the body snatchers. I would find a way to get Gage back to his normal self, and I send him to hell, no matter what it took. If it meant finding his remains, somewhere in the middle of Timbuktu, I would do it. And Gage would be saved. As for Tate wanting to be put to rest, that just might have to be put on hold. He's waited this long, what would a few weeks be? Absolutely nothing for a thing that doesn't age.

Jarring me from my thoughts was Francis, who was getting into the Jeep. "You waited?" He sounded more than amused, but I could tell in the relaxed way that he sat that Gage was back to being Gage. And with him, came the automatic amount of comfort and happiness I felt before Francis arrived. "How was she?" I asked, allowing myself to smirk slightly. I had no clue where I was going to head next. It was a toss up between the cemetery, or going to see Phillipe and Hannah. "She?"He sounded confused, like he had no idea he had just gotten laid by our little waitress. Maybe he didn't. "Yea,"I mused,"Ruby. You two did actually do it, didn't you? You didn't just send each other the whole 'fuck me now' vibe and not do anything. Right?" I sounded so appalled that I had to actually attempt not to give myself a pat on the back. Score, two for none. My acting was amazing. It wasn't like I actually knew anything about quickies, especially considering Id honest to god only had sex four time. And it was always with... Well, one guy. I was proud to be able to say I was never a whore.

"Oh... that. Yea." And he was silent, locked up as tightly as a safe with a pin number. I pulled away, letting him sit in his own thoughts. Fifteen minutes later, we were standing at the gates of Oakly Park Cemetary. I had to check on Dylan, Hannah and her baby. If I didnt know any better, Id almost refer to myself as a ghost hunter, with how I check up on dead bodies enough. I smiles to myself at the irony of hating living people enough to avoid them, but to hang around with the dead, which was just so damned different. Not.

"The cemetery? How romantic,"He scoffed. Oh, yea. Gage was definitely back. And there was no knowing when Francis would be back to take over. "Shut up, or go back to the car. I'm not going to listen to you moan and groan about my little hobbies." I could see him deliberating, but I think it was curiosity that got the best of him. I would have been curious to see what I needed at a cemetery too, if I wasn't a mediator who had to worry about lost souls following her home. Its partially why I avoided all places that generally had to do with death. Hospitals, funeral homes, that sort of thing. Sometimes, it was even hard to just go for a nice stroll through the park.

"Alright. Go find a tombstone with the name Hannah Thatcher. The date of death should be some time recent. Got it?" Gage nodded, looking relieved I gave him a task to keep himself busy. He looked just as thrilled as I felt about being surrounded by death. 'If only he knew,' I thought sourly, heading towards the Willows in the furthest, most dark part of the whole place. There was the tombstone, reading, Amelia A. Barlow Loving daughter and wife. When I had buried Dylan, I really hadn't expected him to want to be buried in the same coffin as his wife. I thought he meant in his own plot, maybe next to hers. But no. Ghosts has to be so picky.

"Dylan? You playing hide and seek, or are you actually resting?" I used the term resting loosely, considering I knew how some ghosts liked to stick around, even if there remains are where they were supposed to be. There was no response, other than the wind rustling through the tree. I waited several seconds before I jumped nearly fifteen feet into the air when a hand grabbed my shoulder.

I turned quicker than I ever thought possible, relieved to find it wasn't Dylan, only Gage. "Were you talking to the grave?" His voice was quizzical, yet concerned. Maybe he was worried about my mental health. I knew I was sometimes. I didn't really try and deny talking to the grave. "Yea,"I murmured,"Loved friends of my parents." It was an easy enough excuse for why I randomly decided to visit a graveyard at the ass-crack of dawn. Changing the subject of my faux family friends, I watched as Gage headed towards the sunniest part of the whole cemetery. "Hannah M. Thatcher, you said, right? And then there's... Becky R. Thatcher..." He turned from the grave, almost as if he was mourning a lost friend or family member. I was at loss of what to do for a long moment, but I wasn't going to leave him be.

"Do you see them to?" I asked gently, my fingers lightly holding on to his shoulder. I was talking about actually seeing them, how angry Hannah had been about her lost baby. And I understood why. She had died to give life, and the life she had given hadn't even had a chance to blossom from a small, puny thing, into the most beautiful thing in the world. I almost felt like I was offending someone by referring to Becky as a thing, but I would do my Hail Marys later, to repent for whatever sin that was.

Gage was silent as he turned to face me, his hazel eyes darker than when Francis had possessed him. I noticed they were more green, with blue that almost star burst around the iris. I could see my own pain reflecting in his eyes, my own story being echoed back at me. I didn't need him to answer about seeing them. I just knew. He really was a mediator. And unfortunately for him, it meant having a life that would never be his anymore. "Why can I see them, Callie? Why? I never asked to-" I shushed him, sitting criss cross over Hannah's grave, taking his hand and pulling him down with me. I would do the one thing I hadn't done since I was little, when I became really desperate, when life was crushing down on me so hard that I couldn't draw in a single breath.

When he was mirroring me, I took a hold of his hands, and smiled, feeling the ultimate, automatic peace and happiness. The air around us went haywire with the electricity of our connection. I would have nearly died to know why it felt like this around him, but I wouldn't want to know so badly I actually died. Clearing my throat, I let myself become lost in my mind, clearing everything from it. Now, Im not religious, by nearly any means, but when you need help, you have to try.

"Dear Lord..." I bit my lip, unsure of how to continue until Gage squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Dear God, I pray for the lost souls that wander on the ground you made for them. I pray for Hannah Thatcher, and her baby Becky Rose-Anne Thatcher. I pray that Carson is found, and that justice is served, because to be honest, God, I dont think hes innocent. I pray for my friend, Gage River, and the lost soul Francis, who clings to Gages' innocent body and mind. I pray for the lost soul, Tate, to be free to love before his final passing. Most of all, I pray for there to be peace between all of the lost souls, and the mediators who suffer from all requests. I pray for peace and happiness. Amen." Gage echoed after me,"Amen."

I always felt some type of peace after I literally prayed in the most peaceful place I could think of. But no peace came over me this time, which caused an automatic rock of worry to settle in the pit of my stomach. I knew Id be alone in all of these worldly issues. But that was okay, because I had Gage to help me now. Sighing quietly, I let go of Gages hand, but he kept a hold of them, smiling across from me. I wanted to help him, to give him answers. He didn't deserve to suffer just because Francis decided he needed some type of vessel.

"Still want me to answer your questions?" I asked gently, tracing the palm of his hand with my fingertip. Life lines. I had never really cared to learn how to read palms, but something made me consider taking up the habit. He nodded in response to my question, and sat, waiting. Just for one little second, I wondered what it would have been like, to touch my lips to his, to feel the electricity wrapped around us so tightly short out from overload. And then, with as quickly as it was there, it was gone. "I call them the lost souls. The dead who werent happy with something about life, who are stuck here, wandering Earth for all of eternity." Despite how I was usually sarcastic, this was one subject I would never joke with. Not with Gage; he just seemed too... fragile. Too new to handle it all at once, by himself.

"Ive seen them ever since I drowned at seventeen." He instantly recoiled, his hand falling from mine. I instantly picked it back up, soothingly rubbing my thumb over his knuckles. "I died, Gage, but I came back. It's expiriences like that that let me see them. And you... You're... special.' I felt a small, unsure smile cross over my face, flitting away as soon as it came. He stared down at where my thumb hand wandered down to his wrist, tracing his veins. 'By the blood of my blood,'I thought, allowing myself a small moment of such overwhelming sadness that one, single silver tear escaped from the corner of my eye.

It rolled all the way down my cheek, before dropping onto our hands. "Gage. You really are special. Maybe you don't need to know this, but..." I took a deep breath, turning away. It just felt like I was betraying him somehow, by telling him about Francis. "There's a lost soul in you, Gage. His name is Francis. But I swear to God, I will find some way for you to be you again. I swear. Okay?" Gage looked worried, but nodded. It was almost like explaining it to a child. 'Mommy isn't in Heaven, sweetie. She lives inside of you.' I sighed, letting go of his hands, and leaned back against the deep green grass.

"You feel it too, then, don't you?" I asked, staring at the sky. The storm clouds were finally rolling in, but I didn't care. Maybe I would dance in the rain. Maybe I would even dance in the rain naked. I would do anything to make me feel not so like myself, not so sad for me, for Gage. "I don't know what I feel. I just know being with you... Its like facing the sun without a care that you could get burned. Its like, even though I just met you today, Callie, I cant live without you." I knew it. His words sent such a violent wave of happiness through me that I literally shivered. We were drawn together for a reason, even if it was because he was possessed. Fat, clear drops of rain started falling from the heavy grey clouds. I wanted for nothing more than to just be with him, even if it meant dodging bullets, and putting up with the Francis. _'Its like facing the sun without a care that you could get burned... I cant live without you.'_

It was so unexpected, when he tugged me from the hard ground and smashed our lips together, like two natural forces against each other. He was the thunder, I was the lightning. It was so right that I just couldn't stop. Trying to stop seemed impossible, because it was so meant to be. I found myself pulling us closer together, my arms wound tightly around his neck. I was so close to even popping my foot, just to add to the little squeal that I was doing inside. I wasn't going to complain about being given a chance for the ultimate happiness with Gage. It sounds so stupid, so school girl like, but it was beyond true.

Pulling back reluctantly, those damn eyes looked straight into my soul. "I just have one question, before everything falls apart, and something bad happens." I murmured, my thumb tracing over his lower lip. "Do you like movies and cuddling? And animals?" I smile sheepishly, watching as his lips turned up into a smile. "I do." It was like a final sentence, before the thunder struck. And we stayed there, kissing in the rain, in the land of the dead. And we were happy. But I still had work.


End file.
